


Keep Time on Me

by Observedchaos



Series: this heart's on fire [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Amnesia, Angst and Humor, Be Careful What You Wish For, F/M, Growing Up, Jaime Lannister Has Issues, Magic, Mutual Pining, Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn-ish, Tyrion Lannister Ships It, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Until it isn't, Wishes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:48:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26913916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Observedchaos/pseuds/Observedchaos
Summary: After Tyrion makes a wish, Jaime is literally 16 again. Brienne tries to cope. Angst and hijinx ensue.You don't need to read the preceding fic, Favors the Brave, even though I'd like it if you did.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Series: this heart's on fire [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1963765
Comments: 17
Kudos: 73





	Keep Time on Me

**Author's Note:**

> This part is mostly angst but I threw in some jokes.
> 
> There *are* some hijinx coming up. But I have to make them suffer first. They will also suffer later (in a happier way).

Watching her co-worker chug down shots of whiskey and self-pity had not been how Brienne planned to spend the evening. It wasn’t even second runner-up.

A light workout at the gym and finishing the last 100 pages of a fantasy novel which had _finally_ gotten good didn’t seem like too much to ask. 

But she had run into Tyrion on the way to the parking lot. She had no means of escape from the beartrap lurking behind every elevator door: awkward small talk. 

Which meant that she was still walking with Tyrion when his brother Jaime pulled up in his obnoxious convertible. Top down, of course. Damn him.

Jaime insisted that she join them for a night out. _The night is young, Tarth. Believe it or not, so are you._ The younger Lannister had been dumped by his latest bored beauty but it was true that Tyrion could make even his moping entertaining. 

Brienne tried to resist. She had resolved to commit to a Jaime-lite diet ever since he had fallen back into bed with his poisonous ex. He was bad for her heart. 

Weeks of rationing, cutting back responding to his messages to once every other day, delicately avoiding rushing to his rescue every time he made a dumb decision. Like a juice cleanse, it was grueling but also invigorating.

The shadow of hurt in his eyes when she started to make her excuses was what did her in. Two seconds and she had fallen off the wagon, deeper into the ravine than when she’d started. It was pathetically obvious how easy it was for Jaime to talk her into anything. 

_“All those prayers and plans,”_ he’d warned her from a hospital bed. _"The Gods have found their perfect fool in you, haven't they?”_

Brienne wished she weren't so weak.

**********

Jaime and Brienne had served in the same unit in the Green Cloaks where they had butted heads, nearly died, and stared at each other until they settled into a bewildering friendship. Jaime was a sarcastic, arrogant ass. He informed her that she was a naive, stubborn fool. They argued all the time. Brienne had never felt so comfortable with anyone in her life.

Jaime had introduced her to Tyrion when they left the service. In a fit of ennui, Brienne had remarked to Jaime that she wanted to do something that mattered for the people told by the world they didn't matter. Jaime had rolled his eyes and called her a child. 

The next day, Tyrion offered her a position with the nonprofit he funded in order to meet "women of a _generous_ nature."

Thus, Brienne found herself in a Lannister laden life. If she sometimes felt like she had been abducted by a race of sarcastically mischievous aliens for their amusement, it was well worth the trade off. She loved her job. She loved that she had a sense of purpose. She loved the empanada place next to the office and the little bookshop two blocks from her apartment. She loved that she had finally found some work pants that fit. And of course, she loved Jaime.

Brienne wished she didn't.

**********

They didn’t so much talk about Cersei as talk around her.

Brienne wasn't sure how she had learned the things she knew about Jaime's tumultuous relationship with Cersei. In the service, she was sure he never mentioned her name. It was obvious that he was attached: he hoarded his phone privileges with unusual zeal. He laughed off any persistent admirers. She saw him sniff a postcard with longing once. Brienne had barely looked at Jaime back then but it was so intimate that she'd had to duck outside into the gritty swirl of red sand to hide her blush.

Then It Had All Happened. Brienne didn’t have words for it. She only knew that her life and Jaime's had been poured into a boiling crucible. They’d emerged as something inextricable and wrought.

They were discharged and limped home together to Kings Landing. They hadn't talked about that, either. Jaime had given her a printout of 5 apartment listings, she had picked out her favorite, and he'd lived on her couch for 2 months while he did the first phase of his physical therapy.

It was a time of survival. There was no room for complication. Cersei was nowhere to be seen. It was only after Brienne started working with Tyrion that Jaime was pulled back into Cersei's orbit. 

Jaime had met Cersei when they were 16. She caught his eye as she owned the runway at a local mall fashion show. Brienne had seen a photo of them once from around that time: Jaime straddling his BMX bike, with a trophy in one hand and his girlfriend’s perfect face in the other. Their matching smiles and tousled hair were as bright as a gold leaf painting.

Whatever was between them was instantaneous. Tyrion had bitterly likened it to a lion picking off a gazelle. Brienne thought that was likely unfair and just plain unlikely. Jaime never stayed still long enough to be hunted.

Cersei’s modeling career took off and Jaime’s BMX competitions slowly fell to the wayside. Jaime cut class so often to accompany Cersei to her shoots that eventually he dropped out. She needed him. Jaime protected her from the vicious world of sexual predators and toadies that wanted to twist Cersei to their advantage. Jealousy and possession tangled them together. Neither seemed to want to escape. 

Cersei's ascendancy to covering magazines was accompanied by Jaime's slide into more dangerous displays of devotion. He was arrested for assault against a booking agent and something involving blackmail of a Fashion Editor. After the last incident, his father cut him off and Jaime joined the reserves for money when Cersei declined to put him on payroll ( _how would it *look* Jaime? Is it a salary you want or me?_ )

Jaime was a born adrenaline junkie but Brienne knew that he had never expected to do much beyond shuffle supplies and stack sandbags.

Until the first King fell.

Not even the gods could hear wishes on a battlefield.

**********

Jaime, Tyrion and Brienne had ended up at a low-slung bar with memorabilia cluttering the wall. “Memorabilia” being printed autographs and stock pictures of people in monochrome that promised similarly bland appetizers of familiar empty calories. Brienne knew without looking at Tyrion's wrinkling nose that Jaime had chosen the place. He had a surprising fondness for kitsch. 

“Truly, Jaime? Is my wounded heart not enough for you? You needed to assault my eyes, too?”

“You asked for a distraction. Here it is. Neon so you can’t miss it,” Jaime booped Tyrion on the nose with the plastic menu; it was shaped like a flamingo.

“It’s kind of cute,” Brienne said, as she traced the fluorescent green sunglasses hanging from the flamingo’s neck. It was hideous, of course, but it was never wise to give up too much ground to Jaime’s antics.

“See? You could get a print for the office. Show all those troubled teens you’re cool before they even get to the intake desk.” 

The image was too vivid for Brienne to resist. “Like that poster of the kitten that says “hang in there.”

“Yes, exactly!” Jaime exclaimed. “Or those Read posters with celebrities who might as well be holding the book upside down. What do you think the slogan should be?”

“We’ll take you under our wing?” Brienne knew Tyrion would make her pay for encouraging this game but it was worth it just to look at Jaime’s crinkling eyes for a moment longer. 

“Your future’s so bright, we have to wear shades.”

“Let us give you a leg up.”

“What fun,” Tyrion said flatly. He eyed the hubcaps hanging precariously above their booth, then frowned as his fingers stuck to the bird’s laminated feathers. “I suppose Grease is the word.”

"So you've heard, then?" Jaime said, leaning purposely into his brother’s personal space.

"Enough of whatever the hell this is," Tyrion said with a dismissive wave. "The only good part of breaking up is tying one on. What passes for a drink in this place? Turpentine in a glass made out of tupperware?"

"They have a wine list," Jaime said suspiciously. "It's on that clipboard that looks like a pineapple."

"For the love of the gods! They might as well play Beethoven's fifth on a kazoo!"

Erupting into riotous laughter, Jaime fell back against the booth in triumph. Brienne couldn't remember the last time she'd seen Jaime so lighthearted.

"So superior. Sounding an awful lot like our father, dear brother."

"You would know," Tyrion countered. "You spend all day at his beck and call."

The descent into tense silence was dizzying. 

It was a low blow. Jaime had gone to work for his father after they were discharged, a fate both brothers once considered worse than death. The reason for Jaime's change of heart lay lifeless in his lap. 

"I think they have mozzarella sticks," Brienne mused awkwardly. _Well done, Tarth. You're a godsdamned poet._

Tyrion took pity on her. "Let's buy some with Father's money. Do you think they serve them in a trough?"

The mood eased into a more familiar pattern of Tyrion saying something ridiculous and Jaime shaking his head affectionately. Brienne felt relieved to sit back and watch, even as she tried not to notice Jaime's right hand receding further under the table.

Everything really did seem fine again once Tyrion found his method of revenge. He made no effort to hide his nod toward Brienne as he nudged Jaime with a wicked grin. Nor did Jaime bother to cover his snort of agreement.

"Oh Brienne," Tyrion sighed. "My dearest coworker, my faithful friend. My heart has been crushed under the sinfully supple leather boots of a fellow member of your sex. It falls onto you to right this wrong, unfair as it may be."

"Get to it, Romeo." Brienne already knew that she would do whatever he asked. It had taken ages, but she had learned the art of paying her debt was to act put upon. 

"I must send you on a perilous quest...to order our drinks at the bar."

"Okay," Brienne furrowed her brow in confusion. 

Then Tyrion pointed at the name of the drink as Brienne blushed down to her toes. "Three, please!" 

Resigned, Brienne hefted herself out of the booth. Embarrassment at the loud squeak of the table as she headed on Tyrion’s stupid quest fell quiet when she felt Jaime brush her wrist. He’d had to reach awkwardly across the table to catch her skin with his fingertips. His eyes searched hers in silence but Brienne heard his question all the same. _Yes,_ she nodded. _Yes, I know that you don’t think that **I’m** the joke. You’re the only one who doesn’t._

There were only so many things that Brienne could handle in one night so she focused on the task at hand. Using her size as an advantage for once, Brienne pressed on to the bar. People tended to scatter when they saw her in a crowd; their stares didn’t matter as much then. The bartender startled like all the rest, but he recovered quickly.  
Her plan to point at the name of the drinks that Tyrion wanted fell apart instantly. No flamingo menus in sight (and Brienne felt sure she would’ve seen them). Faint rows of drink names had been scrawled on the chalkboard behind the bar but there seemed to be no rhyme or reason as to where one word stopped and another began. Her backup plan of gestures and strongly worded hints was no better. The bartender’s patience gave way to confusion and then amusement as he leaned across the bar awaiting her order. 

“Come on, doll. You can do it. I’ve heard it all.” He cupped his hand around his ear and tipped his face close to hers. He was laughing but it didn’t sting. Brienne lowered her head in defeat.

“Three Suck, Squirt, and Blows, please.”

“My pleasure, doll.” He said, with a wink. 

Her shame was short-lived. Brienne exchanged a smile of vindication with the bartender when he turned to place three bright green abominations before her. 

Tyrion was going to hate it.

Brienne made sure to soak up every satisfying second of patrician horror on Tyrion’s face as she slid in the booth past Jaime, who was already on his feet to help her with the drinks. 

It was nice. Not the drink, the drink was nearly as horrible as it looked. Being with them, with Jaime and the person who made him laugh more than anything in the world, that was nice. She fell into the warmth of Jaime and Tyrion's squabbling. 

It truly was a nice 15 minutes before Jaime’s phone rang and he stepped outside with his false hand over his ear and Cersei's name on his lips. 

Brienne tried to hold on to the memory of those 15 minutes. She wanted to think of those minutes instead of what that phone call meant. She wanted to be waiting for Tyrion to taste the sour drinks he’d brought on himself, not waiting for a cab when Jaime had left her alone in a movie theater after his phone rang.

She wanted to smell mozzarella, apple flavoring, and the hint of paper from the napkin that Jaime given her before taking one for himself, not the musk of sex in her bathroom when Cersei had come over to “help” him move out. 

The thunk of the car keys that Jaime dropped on the table in sheepish apology was louder than his empty promise of a raincheck. She wanted to stare after him as long as she could because those 15 minutes would be gone the moment she looked away. But she made herself let them go. It was time to let them go. Because Jaime hadn’t left her alone this time. 

Brienne wished she didn't recognize the look on Tyrion’s face.

**********

The night veered into utter disaster after that, of course. Brienne liked Tyrion but she never felt at ease with him. He was funny and more introspective than Jaime but he was also manipulative and crude. She liked how he brought out a softer side of Jaime but hated the high wire act of keeping up with them.

Even though they worked together, they had never settled into a less awkward way of being alone together. Jaime prodded her into conversation, teased her until she didn’t have to think about her responses. Tyrion put on a show that she might've enjoyed if she hadn't felt that she was obligated to clap.

Tonight, Tyrion wasn’t content to be alone on stage. Far too many drinks later, he dragged her out of the audience eyeing them at the bar into the humiliating spotlight of the carnival fairgrounds. Brienne didn’t know how to rein Tyrion in nor how to keep his monologues about Jaime’s abandonment from piercing her straight through.

The sight of Brienne lurching after Tyrion to keep him on his feet surely made quite a show. At least she’d sort of gotten a workout in. Diving after him was harder than that hot yoga class she and Jaime had tried a few months ago. And less embarrassing than Jaime’s staring at the sweat stains that had clung to her thighs.

When Tyrion disappeared from her view, Brienne felt both panicked and relieved. His mood had significantly improved when she finally found him stumbling out of a tent on her second pass through the park. Flames flickered behind him as the tent’s curtains fluttered to a close but there was no smoke. _Probably LED lights to go with the gaudy flaming heart above the entrance._ A sudden passing chill led her to drape her cardigan around Tyrion’s shoulders; it came down to his ankles.

“I’ve fixed it, Brienne!” Tyrion craned his head up at her in triumph. “Don’t know why I didn’t think of it before. Always thought she enthorsh-enforced-endorse-” Tyrion worked his mouth in frustration as she dragged him to the car. Better to take him to the office than his home, she concluded. She knew where he kept his alcohol in his desk but his home was likely a minefield.

“Enswordcelled him! Takes a witch to beat a witch. He’ll finally see it.” Tyrion’s legs twitched as she’d buckled him into the passenger seat. She’d hesitated then brushed a prickly curl out of the corner of his eye, even as she knew the wind would catch it the second they reached the highway. He had looked very young.

“And you! You can protect him. So he’ll choose us.”

Brienne closed the car door gently on his mumbling. 

She wished she could believe him.

**********

By the time Brienne had settled Tyrion into a position in his office chair that looked vaguely stable and left a note for Pod warning him of the disaster awaiting him in his boss’s office, she was dead on her feet.

She distracted herself from her creaky climb up the stairs by considering updating her will with instructions to bury her in her bed. Wrap her up in that silky soft comforter she’d found at the Sunday market, cue up the rain sounds setting on her white noise machine, and shove her mattress out to sea. As long as they pushed her in a direction away from any Lannisters, she’d be at peace.

The punishment for having the audacity to internally vocalize something she wanted was sitting in front of her door, rumpled and impatient.

“What are you doing here, Jaime?”

“So rude, Cinderella. Don’t you turn into a pumpkin after midnight?” He bared his throat to her from his perch on the Disney-themed welcome mat Sansa had given her for a housewarming gift. 

(Jaime had laughed himself sick when he’d seen it. He’d spent a good hour airing his material as she’d struggled to write a tactful thank you note. 

_Dear Sansa, thank you for coming to play in my bouncy castle. I hope next week you can join me and my dolls for tea._

_Dear Sansa, your gift has made my third floor walk up the most magical place on Earth._

_Dear Sansa, do you think I could borrow the little birds that help you get dressed in the morning?_

Only her refusal to mock Sansa’s gentle heart had kept Brienne from giving into laughter.)

“I was beginning to think Prince Charming had swept you away,” Jaime sneered, refusing to get out of her way.

“I’m not in the mood, Jaime.” Brienne shouldered her way into her apartment, past the rusty latch. The rumpled wretch followed her inside. It was yet another injustice of the universe that the emotional vampires that called themselves Lannisters never needed an invitation, even when at their most draining. 

“Is that what you told Charming? Or did you say you had a headache?”

Her evening with Tyrion had stripped away her patience. 

“Is that what Cersei told *you*? I thought she needed you.”

“Is that what this is about? You’ve been avoiding me for weeks because I wanted to spend time with my girlfriend? Or are you just bored with me?”

Brienne felt blindsided. “Bored with you? You’re the one who left me with Tyrion, in a *bar.* He’s really upset, Jaime. Cersei isn’t the only one he needs you.”

Jaime looked away from her. “I’ll make it up to him.”

Brienne’s back hurt and all she wanted was her bed. Her shoulders fell in surrender, ready to fall back to a safer position. She’d shove him toward the couch and deal with him in the morning.

“Take the couch. You know where the sheets are,” she sighed as she pushed past him. Somehow he was always standing in front of her, blocking her from seeing anything else. She had liked it that way, once.

“What about you, Brienne? Do you need me?” 

The cruelty of the question turned her heart to ash. Jaime had always seen right through her. He had to know exactly how she felt about him. One bad night with Cersei and he’d toss Brienne in the kindling to keep himself warm. She whirled on him in blind frustration.

“I’m not your backup, Jaime.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” His face fell open in shock.

“It means that Cersei kicked you out and Tyrion wasn’t home so I’m your last option. Don’t take your shitty decisions out on me.”

Jaime’s nostrils flared. Brienne felt dread pool in her gut. When it came to a war of words, Jaime always had her outgunned.

“Do you want to talk about last options, Brienne? Because last I looked, I was your _only_ option.”

The tears that had been waiting in the wings all evening rushed forward to take their curtain call. She had so hoped that Jaime didn’t pity her.

“Brienne, wait.” Jaime’s voice broke but it was too late.

She couldn’t be here with him any longer. It wasn’t safe. That thought made her cry harder, because Jaime was the only one who had ever let her feel safe.

He grasped at her hips to stop her escape but she blindly reached out to push him away. They froze as she found her hand clutched around the abrupt end of his right palm. She hadn’t touched his hand since Essos. Since she felt his heartbeat through the tourniquet she had fashioned from the clothes of the men she had killed to reach him. Since she kept the belt holding him together cinched with a determination that defied gravity as the helicopter hurtled them out of hell.

Jaime never left home without the silicone glove that slid on the remaining crescent of his thumb and little finger. The prosthetic was custom made and astonishingly realistic, down to the hair and freckles matched to his skin tone. It was also entirely cosmetic and breathtakingly expensive; a price Jaime could only pay if he were in Tywin's employ. Cersei didn’t like to be seen with anyone ...unphotogenic. Jaime made his bargain with Tywin: his soul in exchange for an illusion in service to Cersei's vanity. Jaime never went without it even though he would have been better served with something more functional, like myoelectric fingers. Jaime had shrugged off any questions, saying that he preferred to be "armed and dangerous." 

Brienne opened her eyes in concern to stare as his naked palm in her hand. What *had* happened tonight? 

With her head still bent toward her chest, she found Jaime’s brow inches from her nose. The smell of his sweat, the brisk rinse of his hair were as tangible as the drumtight skin over bone cupped in her hand. His chest pressed against her as he took deep heaving breaths.

“Brienne,” he said. His phone started to ring.

There was barely a breath between them. The first time she’d really seen Jaime, she had been a breath away from dying. Debris exploded around her head as she’d curled desperately around her rifle, gunmetal burning through her shirt. He hadn’t been anything to her then, only another face waiting to laugh at her. His cold beauty and sharp wit made his words more cutting perhaps, but how could you tell one razor blade from another? The last thing she’d seen before she ducked behind a wall was her unit’s jeep racing away. 

The percussion of bullets thudded faster than her heartbeat until she felt Jaime’s hand on her wrist. He’d tugged her behind him to safety as two of his closest friends in the unit laid down covering fire from over the ridge. 

So she understood when his head turned sharply to his pockets, his hands already pulling away.

Jaime didn’t leave people behind. Alone, sometimes. But not behind. How could she hold that against him? 

Still, she couldn’t look at him when she left him in the living room. She didn’t want to see the look on his face when she told him not to be there when she woke up.

Brienne couldn't help but dream of weapons she'd never have.

**********

Jaime never did what he was told so it was impossible to overstate her surprise that he was gone in the morning.

In his place on the couch, sat a boy with golden leaf hair. His hands held apart the plackets of his shirt to reveal a gleaming beacon of matching gold within his chest.

**Author's Note:**

> I stole the best joke in this fic from Gilmore Girls. See if you can spot it.
> 
> And if you guessed that I named the drink after the GRRM line that makes me shudder down to my socks, you would be correct.
> 
> This fic is "done," apart from polishes and agonizing attacks of indecision. I'll update once a week. Unless no one likes it, in which case I will take my sweet time. 
> 
> It would make my day if you left a kudos or a comment. Writing this fic was a long dark tea-time of the soul.


End file.
